Those Winds of Change
by breakingelle
Summary: Getting shot in the head does a lot to you, like erase your memory. The Courier doesn't know who she is or where she came from. Benny's bullet made sure of that. Now on a warpath of revenge, she must achieve justice while also rediscovering herself. Whether it be in the ghost of her old self, or someone new, the Mojave is leaving its mark on the Courier. And she's leaving hers.
1. Bye Bye Baby

_October 4th, 2281_

_NCR Mojave Outpost_

_I'm on the California-Nevada line, waiting in a NCR outpost for the roads to clear. I'm not sure what I'm going to find here but I've already got my name down on a list for the Mojave Express. So far the jobs have been easy, just send a letter to somebody's mom or shit like that. It's a hell of a job for not enough caps but I've gotta have the money. Whatever is out here, it's gotta be damn well better than what's back home in LA._

_The courier jobs are just the beginning. Once I save up I'm hitting New Vegas and finding a spot there to rest my head for good. But everybody around here has been telling me that the fee to get into the golden gates is 2,000 caps. Apparently they run the ship like they do New Reno. I guess that's to be expected considering that lights attract flies. New Vegas is just a greedy bastard magnet._

_Still, I want in and I think my wait may be less than I expected. I got a letter to today from Primm, a town right down the road from here. It was from the Mojave Express Postmaster himself. Apparently my name got chosen to carry a package that is apparently more valuable than letters to grandma. When I read what the payment was I about choked on the brahmin steak I was eating. Right there in bold letters it read one thousand caps. To make things even better the drop off is in Vegas._

_I had planned to make my way there slowly to get enough caps but it seems that the Mojave gods have altered my fate. Once dawn breaks I'm heading for Primm and accepting the job, even if one thousand caps sounds almost impossible. For that much, it can't be easy but I'm willing to take the risks. I've traveled through the heart of California to get here and I'm still alive. A few days down the Long 15 will be a cakewalk. I've been through too much to quit now. In a few days time I'll be a Vegas gal._

* * *

The smell of cigarette smoke filled her nose and mouth like a sweet perfume. It awakened her senses and she felt consciousness caress her softly. The Courier could suddenly feel again, pain being the first thing to jolt her further into the land of the living. The side of her head throbbed like she'd been hit with a metal skillet and her whole body burned like she'd just ran through the Mojave in a day. A ringing in her ears told her that she had indeed been hit with something but she couldn't remember what. Everything was still fuzzy, and the noises she was hearing sounded muffled. There was talking and the sound of dirt being shifted but it was like she was hearing everything underwater. The Courier didn't dare open her eyes yet until she was sure she wouldn't pass out. Instead she waited, listening as the voices became more than noise but actual words. Whoever was around her, they were all men. By the sound of their rough vocabulary and deep, menacing voices she could tell they were tribal. What tribe, she didn't know. Were they Legion? She'd been far from their territory but from what was being said at the Outpost they were getting brave. But if they were Legion she would have been strung up naked on a cross by now. So they had to be the group called Great Khans. But one voice stood out among the rest, one that didn't sound tribal. No, it was educated and haughty with a few slang terms thrown in that she didn't know. He had a smooth voice and a way of talking that made her want to lean in and listen more. This voice belonged in New Vegas, there was no doubt.

"We almost done here?" One of the Khan's spoke, the rest silencing. The Courier heard a humorless chuckle and the sound of a zippo of lighter being flicked closed. "Hold your horses, buddy. It's almost time. But not yet." Even though the Courier's eyes were not open, she could feel the gazes of several men on her unmoving body. The feeling made her nervous. Who were these people? What did they want from her? The caps? Damn, she would have thrown them at their feet if they had just let her walk. It was all coming back to her now, the hot afternoon sun and the crunch of crumbling pavement underneath her feet as she traveled down the Long 15 towards New Vegas. Her satchel was light, carrying only her few belongings and her package, a platinum chip. Things had been going great so far, she'd just left Primm and was heading towards Goodsprings. She thought nothing of it when a shadow had blotted out the sun's light. She thought it was cloud, so she didn't look behind her. It was a stupid mistake, she should have known. The man that had lurked up behind her lurched out and held her into a steel grip. She had been too shocked to even scream and before she knew it, it was too late, a cloth had been shoved in her mouth rendering her mute. That didn't mean she didn't try to kick the balls off of the hulking men surrounding her. She even made contact with a few, busted a lip and maybe broken a nose. Another voice had demanded her to be silenced, and before she could crack a jaw the butt of a gun had been slammed down against her skull.

Now, she was here. Though, she wasn't sure where here was. It didn't seem like she was going to finish her delivery though, those caps were as good as gone. Slowly, she relented and let her eyes open slowly, hissing at the yellow lamplight that burned her eyes. It took her a few moments for the blurriness to clear before the colors and silhouettes morphed into a scene before her. It was night now, the stars shining brightly like little radioactive dots against a black canvas. A old pre-war water tower loomed over her, groaning in the slight wind that kicked up swirls of dust. She was on a hill, or so she thought. New Vegas was shining brightly, clearly visible even though she was miles away. There were men lined up in front of her, some talking amongst themselves and others staring at her as if they were expecting something. She had been right, they were Great Khans. The name was stamped everywhere possible on their biker jackets. They looked mean and ready to deal out the wishes of the Mojave. But another man stood out among the rough men. He was turned away from the Courier, his black and white checkered suit out of place among the sea of Khan haircuts and boots. He held himself in a proud way but was hunched over like some of the men she'd seen from New Reno. This man was what the city folk liked to call "cool." He practically screamed New Vegas.

"You got what you were after, so pay up!" Her eyes moved from the man in the checkered suit to a Khan beside him with a dirty bandana wrapped around his head. Vegas only lifted something to his mouth, which she presumed was the cigarette she'd been woken up by earlier. He took his time answering, taking a long drag before blowing it out even more slowly. "You're crying in the rain, pally." Vegas finally answered, sounding amused. The bandana Khan narrowed his eyes but didn't say another word. The Courier looked away from them, her eyes wandering to her bound wrists and feet. She'd been thrown out on the hard ground in a awkward position and the crude knots were digging into her exposed skin. She strained against them, whimpering quietly as she did. Once again she felt the gazes of five men on her. "Guess who's waking up over here!" Another voice met her ears and she looked up, her eyes growing wide. Vegas was still facing away from her but he had perked up at the news. Slowly he turned, his black eyes meeting hers with a look of curiosity. If the Courier hadn't been hogtied and laid out like a piece of meat she would have thought him to be dreamy. He had a cute face with angular features that belonged on a cover of a pre-war magazine. His black hair was shiny with gel and combed neatly. His clever smirk and raised eyebrow painted the picture of a old timey gangster. He was a bad boy, the kind you didn't bring home to mamma. His eyes trailed up and down her body like she was brahmin at an auction. For a second his gaze lingered and the Courier thought she saw his smirk shift into a smile as if he saw something he liked. It didn't last long though, and soon he was back to looking like a cocky son-of-a-bitch.

"Time to cash out." He sighed, sounding bored. He plucked his cigarette from his lips and let it drop to the ground, twisting it under the sole of his shoe until it was just another part of the Mojave. His eyes wandered back to the Courier and he ambled towards her like he owned the world and everyone in it. She watched him cautiously, her heart beating like war drums. What did he want from her? Vegas' smile widened and he squatted down to her level, taking her chin in his fingers. She flinched and tried to move away from him but he held fast, squeezing her jaw until she was forced to stay still. "You're a pretty broad. Damn, it just isn't fair that you had to be carrying that package. The boys back at The Tops would flip if they saw you on my arm." He laughed softly, patting her on the side of the cheek. "Sorry baby, but this is the kiss off for you." He stood up and took his place back between the Khans, his eyes finding hers once more. "Would you get it over with?" The bandana Khan snarled, leaning towards the man in the checkered suit. Vegas scowled, taking a step forward and lifting up a finger to silence him. "Maybe Khans kill people without lookin' em in the face. But I ain't a fink, dig?" The man in bandana scowled, obviously fighting back words as he clinched his fists.

The Courier watched closely as Vegas pulled something out of his checkered suit. Her eyes widened as she realized that the shiny object he held in his hand was the oversized platinum poker chip. "You've made your last delivery kid." He sighed with a smile, his hand going back into his coat. She felt her heartbeat pick up again as she realized what he was reaching for next. She furiously tried to fight against the restraints that rendered her useless, her head whipping left and right as if she was looking for someone to save her. It wasn't until then that she realized she was in a graveyard, a freshly dug hole to her left. She stopped struggling as it dawned on her that this wasn't some random theft. Whoever the man in the checkered suit was, he had planned to have her killed. He'd known where she'd be and when she'd be there and how to take her down without a fight. What was going on around her was a carefully crafted plan that had been thought of way before she had walked across that California-Nevada line. She was going to die here. Her fate had been decided for her by a man she didn't know.

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." Vegas rummaged around in his coat pocket for a moment more before finally pulling out a gun. Her eyes darted from the nickel plated 9mm to the face of her murderer. "From where you're kneeling, must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck." His lips twitched into a slight smirk as he watched her eyes look over the gun. He slowly brought it up, aiming it at her head. For moment she thought he looked almost sorry, but the quick transition into a cocky grin told her otherwise. The Courier took a shaky breath and a single tear rolled down her dirt streaked face. Her whole body quivered like a tumbleweed in the wind. "Truth is," He paused, letting the silence stretch until she wanted to beg for death just so the wait would be over. "The game was rigged from the start." He squeezed the trigger, slowly at first then forcefully, letting go when the eerie Mojave silence was broken by the sound of his bullet leaving the gun's chamber. The Courier didn't even have time to shut her eyes before the world closed in around her.


	2. Don't You Remember?

_**October 11th, 2281**_

_**Mojave Wastes**_

I was a week late. I was surprised the Postmaster hadn't given the job to someone else. That damn NCR outpost was keeping everybody from leaving. I was stuck there a few more days literally watching the paint peel from the walls and drinking Cass' homemade whiskey that kept me drunk as a skunk. Finally, the roads were "safe" for me to keep going. The whole ordeal left me wondering what roads in the Mojave were considered "safe." That's like saying it's perfectly alright to keep a deathclaw as a pet. Whatever, I'm finally fucking out of there and not planning on going back anytime soon.

I got into Primm last night and slept at the Vikki and Vance casino but not before I got my package. I think I spent half the night trying to figure out why the hell it's worth one thousand caps. It's some kind of oversized poker chip made out of platinum. Maybe it's a novelty item for a hardcore collector or some shit like that. It does say Lucky 38 Casino. I assume items from a place that hasn't been opened in 200 years are rare. I don't know how a collector would have a 1,000 caps to spend though. Really, this shouldn't matter to me. It's not like I'll be seeing this thing again once I hand it off.

Night is almost falling now and the Mojave skies are turning from blue to orange, the sun still burning hotter than anything. I best be heading off if I want to reach Goodsprings by the time it gets dark. If it wasn't for talk of crazy dynamite wielding escaped convicts I might consider traveling a bit through the night. The added danger to the roads just doesn't sound appealing, even if this is the fucking Mojave and everyone and their grandmother is out to kill you.

* * *

_**October 19th, 2281**_

_**8:00 AM**_

_**Doc Mitchell's House**_

_**Goodsprings, NV**_

_**"Sorry baby, but this is the kiss off for you."**_

The darkness was bottomless. It stretched for miles and miles. I had known that it was coming, but that did not make it any easier. It was cold, chilling me to the bone and nipping at my insides. I had no idea that death could be so desolate and painful. This place of nothing was neither heaven or hell, it was limbo, a place worse than the most frightening nightmare. I had seen my death coming, I had looked it straight in the eye and accepted it the best I could, yet the pain lived on while I did not. I hovered in a state of oblivion, unchanging for a time that felt longer than centuries. But after a time something started to pull me back. Slowly but surely the darkness was lessened. The fear was still there, but light was returning. It fought away the shadows, tearing them apart more quickly than I thought possible. I thought death was permanent and unchanging, an event that was the end of everything, but in this battle, life was prevailing.

The strong smell of aftershave and mothballs assaulted my nostrils, giving me a strange sense of deja vu. I wrinkled my nose and pursed my lips, my eyes flickering open. Above me a ceiling fan came into focus. I was laying down, my fingers clutching at the rough bed linens. Someone was breathing beside me and a fly buzzed past my left ear. I didn't know where I was or how I got there. I wasn't sure why I was sprawled out on an unfamiliar bed, I just knew I wasn't supposed to be there. My muscles moved without my permission, my aching arms trying to push my body into a sitting position. But I was no better than dead weight. I slumped back into the bed, my mind and body protesting, but there was nothing I could do. I was too weak to move...but why?

"Woah now, just take it easy, alright?" The ceiling fan disappeared from view, replaced by a balding man with an impressive mustache. His presence should have frightened me, but found it hard to be scared of a old man with a twangy accent. "You've been through a lot, don't be tryin' to sit up now, okay?" He spoke loudly, like he was unsure if I could understand his words. I decided to nod to let him know that I could hear him well and he didn't have to shout. I absently wondered what he meant by I'd 'been through a lot.' I was still trying to figure out why I was laying in this bed.

"You've been out of it for quite awhile," He continued. "I was getting scared you might not ever wake up." He eased himself into a chair positioned beside the bed. Behind him I could see a gurney and a chemistry set along with a tall stack of books. Was this man a doctor? If I had 'been through a lot' then I would have ended up at a doctor. That was only logical. But what exactly had I been through. I refocused my attention on the man, taking in his appearance once more. A stethoscope was slung around his neck, proving my doctor theory. He wore a plain white shirt tucked into his trousers that were held up by suspenders. I had never seen this man before.

"You alright there? You look like you're pondering the world over there." The doctor said. His tone was light but a frown now rested under his white mustache. I figured it was time to find my voice. There wasn't any use in staying silent when he wanted an answer and I had many questions.

"I'm fine, though I'd like to know where I am and who you are." I said, finding it somewhat difficult to speak on account for my parched throat.

The doctor smiled, looking relieved. "Well I'm Doc Mitchell, the Goodsprings physician. After what went down in the graveyard, you were brought here to my house." He said.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you mean." I responded. I had the strong feeling that I should have known what he was talking about, but I was clueless. His words meant nothing to me.

"You mean you don't remember what happened? You got shot in the head up in the cemetery. Victor dug you up to see if you were still alive and brought you to me. I patched you up and for the last week you've been laying here like a bump on a log. I'd about given up on you ever waking up." The doctor frowned.

I was silent for another moment, trying to make sense of his words. "How could I forget that..." I muttered.

"Don't bother with that for right now. Maybe its a blessing you can't remember. How about I sit you up and you get some fluids in your system? IV's aren't a match for a cold glass of water." Doc Mitchell smiled and reached under his chair, coming up with a tall glass of purified water. It was far from frosty, but my dry mouth yearned for the liquid. The doctor smiled and set the glass on the bedside table before he helped me into a sitting position. I was painfully aware of a dull throbbing in my head, which I could only assume was a product of the slug that apparently had made its way into my brain.

"Here you are." Doc Mitchell smiled, handing me the glass. I downed it in only seconds, more proof to the doctor's story of my apparent vacation into unconsciousness. He took the glass from my hands when I was done, placing it back under his chair. "I hope you don't mind, but while you were out of it I had to go through your things. I never could find your name, sorry to say. I've just been calling you girly." He chuckled. "It'd be nice to finally know who's head I went rootin' in if you understand."

I smiled and opened my mouth to respond, but not a sound came out. I frowned and tried again, but once again I didn't say a thing. There was nothing wrong with my voice, I just wasn't sure what to tell him. My name? What was my name? I felt just as blank as I had when the doctor told me I'd been shot in the head. He asked me a simple question, but I had no idea what the answer was. My name...did I have a name? Of course I did...but why couldn't I remember what it was?

"I-I don't know my name...I can't remember it." I muttered.

The doctor's smile fell and he paled. "You can't remember your name?"

I shook my head no.

"Try telling me something about yourself. Where are you from, who are your kin, why are you traveling the Mojave?" Doc Mitchell spoke urgently as if he was afraid he didn't have enough time to form his words.

I shook my head again. "I don't know. I don't know where I'm from or who my mother and father are. I don't know why I'm traveling the Mojave...I don't know who I am." It was a numb feeling. I couldn't think of anything that defined me. I didn't know who 'me' even was. It was like a big black wall had been slammed up in my mind, blocking out everything that I knew I should have known. A past and a person lived behind that wall. They were so close yet so far away.

"Did the bullet to this to me?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Of course it had everything to do with this.

"I didn't think it did that much damage. The bullet really only grazed you, just deep enough to nick your brain. I thought I had repaired the damage though, I'd even sewed you up so you couldn't see the scar. I thought..." He stopped, standing up and walking to the window. He peered outside, but not really seeing. This wasn't his fault, he had done what he could. The damage had been done when the bullet made contact.

"What's done is done." I said quietly.

"This might only be temporary. It could only be shock."

"I hope it is."

The room fell silent. None of us had anything more to say. He was wracked with guilt while I was just confused. I didn't know what to think. It was starting all over again, trying to be someone without a past to be my guide. I had no parent to steer me in the right direction either. I was alone. I didn't know myself. Why had this happened to me? What was the reason for me to deserve this? In all honestly, it would have been better for me to die than continue living without an identity. Doc Mitchell had said it could just be something temporary, but if it wasn't...how long could I last like this? How long could I keep going without knowing myself? It was a frustrating situation. I could only hope I remembered how to shoot a gun. Whoever did this to me would have to pay. Revenge was the only option I could see at that moment. I was alive for a reason, and that reason was to make sure I didn't just skim my assailant's brain. I would blow it to fucking pieces.

"Who did you say dragged me out of the graveyard?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Victor, a robot that lives in the town down in the old abandoned shack." Doc Mitchell replied, walking back and slumping in his seat.

"A robot?" I frowned.

The doctor chuckled hollowly. "Yeah, he's quite a strange fellow. Nobody knows where he came from or why he's here, but he don't hurt nothin' so we just leave him be. Some of the folks in the town hate him but I don't see no reason to dislike him. After what he did for you, he's a hero."

"Do you know if he saw who shot me?" I asked, the wheels in my head starting to turn.

"He mentioned something about a man in a checkered coat and some Khans but you'd have to ask him if you wanna know more." He said.

I closed my eyes and didn't say anything else. I was trying to pull something out of my head, some memory of myself or the man in the checkered coat. There was a flicker of an image behind my eyelids, a split second of realization. It was quickly gone but I knew it was some form of a memory. The image of a gun, flashing in the moonlight. The virgin Mary etched on the handle and the fear of my impending doom. It was one spark of something that was my past, but it was enough to fuel my rage.

"You aren't thinking of going after this guy, are you?" The doctor asked slowly, breaking my concentration. I opened my eyes and nodded.

"I have to." I said. He let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, I can't tell you what to do in that sense, but you need another day of rest before you go off out into the Mojave."

"Another day won't hurt. I'll find him." I said.

"Good, I hate an unruly patient. They can't seem to understand that the doctor knows best. Rest up another day and you can get back on the road. After talking to Victor you might want to talk to Trudy in the saloon. Shes the gossip queen of Goodsprings. I'm sure she'll have something to say about the man who shot you." He smiled, almost looking sad. I was sure my need for revenge wasn't one that he agreed with. If this man had shot me once, there was no doubt he would try again. After bringing me back to life, it would be only natural for the doctor for wish for my safety. I'd been given another chance in his eyes. I didn't see it as a second chance of life, more or less like a sentence to hell. If only I knew what I'd done to deserve this.

"Oh, and before you leave you might want to figure out some kind of name for yourself. People tend to want to call you something other than girl." He chuckled.

I frowned. "A new name? Like what?"

"I don't know. That's up to you to figure out."

"Give me a suggestion at least. I'm clueless, really. I'm not even sure what I look like." I pointed out.

Doc Mitchell reached under his chair again and pulled a mirror. "Here, take a look. The scar is under your ear on your left side. I tried to fix it so that your hair will grow back. You've got a thick mane, girly so I wouldn't fret about your looks. It's already started growing back." He smiled.

I reached for the mirror and held it out in front of me. Thick, tangled blonde hair framed my heart shaped face. Bright blue orbs stared back blankly and my pale lips were turned into a frown. I let out a sigh of relief. I was glad I wasn't an ugly hag, which was vain to think but a scar really could have fucked my face up. I had no wrinkles, hinting that I was young, maybe early 20's. I wasn't sure how old I was, just a general idea. Dark circles rested under my eyes, making look tired. Still, I had no idea what to call myself.

"When me and my wife were young, she was due to have a little girl," The doctor said suddenly. "The girl died a few hours after birth. We never tried again, fearing it would happen again. It was the most painful thing in the world. Before she died we gave a name. Cosette. That little girl had a thick head of blonde hair like you, and the biggest blue eyes you'd ever seen. You seem like a nice girl, that name would suit you well."

"Cosette," I whispered, tasting the name in my mouth. I liked it, it felt right. "You wouldn't mind me calling myself that?" I asked, looking up at him. He looked sad but he had a smile on his face.

"Not at all girly, it would be an honor for you to have that name. I think it fits you well."

"Then, Cosette it is."

"Just don't give it a bad reputation. I've got a feeling your name is going to be in the mouth of everyone from here to New Reno. People don't come back from the dead without having a reason to." Doc Mitchell said.

I laughed. What he suggested sounded like a story in a book. "I'm glad you think that. I just want some closure though, I don't want my name to be worn out."

The doctor laughed with me, slapping his knee and leaning back in his chair deeply. "That's the thing about fate girly, you don't get to choose what you get. Whatever the world's got in store for you, I believe its only just begun."

I wish had known how true his words really were.


End file.
